Kiss Talent Agency Boxed Set (Books 1-6)

by Virna DePaul

  He shrugs. “Mums and their kids. A difficult dynamic, yes?”

  I just sigh.

  He upshifts again and I notice the hint of a tattoo on his newly bared, strong forearm, mingling with the faint blond hairs there. It makes me shiver in all the wrong—or right—places. Even though my head is saying no, every pore in my body is saying HELL YES.

  I never thought I’d be in a car with him. Talking to him about being a stand-in for a part that Dakota Freaking Drake will fill later.

  Is this really my life right now?

  I look out the window for the first time. We’re going in the complete opposite direction of my house. “Um, my house is that way.” I point behind us.

  “Ah.” He swerves across three lanes of traffic and takes the next exit without his breath even quickening. “So are you game?”

  No! Say no! “I don’t know. Pretending…I mean…how far do we have to take it? Just a few appearances together now and again until you get the part?”

  He winks at me over those dark sunglasses. “We can take it as far as you want, love. I’m up for anything. Or down for anything. I’m particularly fond of going down.”

  It’s a cheesy line, but sounds tantalizing coming from him. I blush, torn between desire, amusement, and dismay. Men never, ever talk to me like this anymore—why should they? I usually ran from the bad boys, and I’d been with Charles since college; even he never flirted with me like this.

  I find myself gazing up at Simon, breathing hard. I have to get away before I completely humiliate myself, but he’s already crossed the overpass and is barreling back onto the freeway. “Excuse me—or should I say, excuse you. I don’t care if you are up for that big part. I don’t get all hot-and-bothered by B-list playboy actors with major egos. And I’m not some floozy you can sleep with after speaking to me like that. I’m not—I’m not that kind of woman.” I refuse to be that kind of woman again. The last time I was that kind of woman, I almost ended up dead, with my bastard boyfriend leaving me in that wreck of a car to protect his own ass.

  My voice trembles, but I have to admit, it feels good to stand up for myself for once. To feel like I can do so without terrible repercussions. Furthermore, my mind whispers that I’m not a foolish teenager anymore. That Simon isn’t Brian Hall. That I’d like to be a version of my old self again, but this time with the benefit of experience, and this time with Simon, but I tell that voice to shut up. I tip my chin up, daring him to get angry with me. To my surprise, he laughs.

  “What a prickly darling you are. It’s nice to see you do have the ability to stand up for yourself, at least with me. You make me want to ruffle your feathers merely to hear that snooty voice of yours again.”

  Snooty? Snooty! God, I want to slap him and kiss him at the same time. “I am not snooty. And that’s my exit.”

  He downshifts and we cruise off the freeway. Just another few minutes and I’ll be away from him.

  Shit.

  Simon is still grinning. “You, Miss Woodcrest, are snootier than the Queen of England. But luckily for you, I have a thing for women who make me work for it.”

  I scowl. “I’m not trying to make you work for it. I’m telling you I’m not interested.”

  Liar.

  He runs his eyes over me. I never experienced being undressed by someone’s eyes until now. I tug at my still-damp skirt and lock my legs together at the knees, but he sees right through that. “And yet, your body seems to be saying otherwise.” His soft voice wraps around me, silky and seductive. “You’re breathing quickly, and you’re flushed all over. And I can see your nipples beneath your sweater, like they’re begging me to touch them.”

  My mouth drops open. I cross my arms over my breasts. “You, sir, are an ass,” I hiss. “That’s my driveway. Pull in and let me get out.”

  I wait for him to tell me I’m a bitch—that’s what Charles would’ve done—but Simon isn’t Charles. He keeps smiling, not the least bit offended. He pulls up the driveway in front of my cottage, stopping in front of the door. As I struggle with the seatbelt, he reaches around to help me, his body pressing up against mine. It’s such a light touch that it’s like a butterfly’s wing, but it sets my body on fire. I freeze, leaning into his touch.

  “You never answered my question: will you be my faux girlfriend, Marissa?”

  My body is screaming, yes yes yes! But I can’t. I can’t let myself get entangled like this. I know how this will end, and it will end badly. Bad boys aren’t good boys for a reason. They’re bad. Very bad.

  “I can’t,” I whisper. “This sounds like a disaster in the making.”

  “Worse than having your mum harass you to get back with your ex?”

  I wince. “Well, maybe not.”

  Simon pulls away again to give me a little breathing room, and I have to admit, I’m kind of sad.

  “I’m meeting with Noble and Spires again for dinner. My last chance to sway them in my favor. If you change your mind—”

  “I won’t. But surely you know other women who’d be willing to be your fake girlfriend?”

  He runs his fingers through his hair. “I have a long list of women who’d gladly take me to bed, yes,” he says, not proudly, just matter-of-factly. “But they’re not exactly the type who’d impress these producers. I need someone reserved, as it were, well-turned-out, girl-next-door—”

  I don’t know if I should be flattered or annoyed. “Maybe you should have better taste in women,” I counter.

  He looks me over: slowly and deliberately. “I have quite the taste for you right now. Hence my previous and admittedly rather bold statement about how I love going down. It’s really that I’d love going down on you. And we can keep white lies and favors out of it.”

  I let out a gasp. I need to get out of this car, not because I want to get away from him—in fact, I feel this strange, magnetic pull. Any more talk like that and I’m sure to burst into flames. But it’s not real. It’s not safe. It’s not my world. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and shove open the door to his car. Then I force myself to go back to where I belong, knowing that his eyes are on my ass the whole time.

  But that’s when I get the text.

  4

  Simon

  Just as I’m settling into the defeat, telling myself I should enjoy the view of this country club cutie’s heart-shape ass while I can, even from afar because I’m never going to get so close to sink my teeth into it as I was hoping, she about-faces and comes rushing back to the Porsche as fast as her high heels will carry her.

  “Come inside,” she says, biting her lip and playing nervously with her pearl necklace.

  She doesn’t have to ask me twice. After making sure no paparazzi vans are following me, something that’s become second-nature to me, I step out of the Porsche and double-time it up her driveway. “Where’s the fire, love?”

  She jabs her key at the doorknob, and it takes her three tries to insert it. “Hold this.” She hands me her phone.

  I see the problem right away. Someone, a Larissa, who must be the pinched-face sister she’d been sitting next to—goddamn, what kind of sadistic parents give their children rhyming names?—has sent her a text: Wanted to warn you, Mom’s popping by. You owe me.

  Marissa finally gets her door open and practically pulls me inside. “Just stay here. For a little while.” She kicks off her heels and looks around helplessly. “I’ll go make coffee.”

  “I’d love something harder.” Looking around her little cottage, I can instantly see this country club cutie has a problem. There are bodice-ripper romance novels and entertainment magazines scattered over every surface in her living room and her television is nearly the size of an entire wall.

  “I have vodka?”

  “On the rocks.” I walk through the living room and peer into her yard. It’s a straight shot to the beach.

  She comes out of the kitchen with two tumblers and hands one to me. She’s flushed. “You see…”

  I take a swig of the
drink and hold up a finger. “No need to explain.” I set the drink down and start to unbutton my shirt.

  Her eyes widen and she quickly averts her eyes. “Oh! What are you doing?”

  I grin. She’s not a child, and yet she seems so damn innocent. It’s fucking sexy. I pull off my shirt and start to work on my pants. “Making sure your mother gets what she came for. Proof that we’re indeed a couple.” I point to the zipper. “Would you like to help?”

  She flushes a delightful red. “No!”

  I pull off my pants and throw them on her overstuffed leather sofa. “Come here.”

  Her gaze is focused dazedly on my crotch, and I can feel myself start to swell within the confines of my boxers. “Oh my god,” she breathes. “What… I—”

  I take her wrist and pull her toward me. The flush crawls straight down her neck, under her sweater, and I wonder if it’s everywhere. Her eyes are now fixed on a tattoo of a spider I’d gotten when I was a lad, on my ribcage. I suppose it’s quite shocking even to the most ardent Alien Love fans, since the green makeup covers my tattoos. I wonder what her hands would feel like roaming over my body, instead of her eyes, but they are clenched, one around the glass and the other at her side. She takes a shaky sip of vodka.

  Good. She needs about a dozen more of those, and maybe we’ll be in business.

  I reach into her hair and pull out the comb that holds it back, letting her dark hair spill over her shoulders. I run my hands through it, mussing it up. Then I start to undo the tiny pearl buttons on her cashmere sweater. All the while, she won’t meet my eyes, but she doesn’t move away, suggesting she wants to be here. As much as she won’t admit it, she wants this.

  I expose her delicious cleavage, a beige bra, and what do you know…the flush is everywhere. I want desperately to dip my head down and bury my face right there, between those glorious, full tits of hers. But at that moment, the doorbell rings.

  I inspect her—not bad, but not good either. To be good, she’d be sitting on my face and moaning my name right now. But there’s still time. I grin. “Allow me.”

  She opens her mouth to protest but I pull open the door. “Why, hello, gorgeous,” I say in my most charming voice.

  I suppose it isn’t fair or gentlemanly of me. After all, heart disease runs in the Woodcrest family, as June so eloquently informed the entire club earlier. I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but that woman had a set of pipes on her. Her eyes roam from my face, down to my chest, stopping at the bulge in my shorts. Like mother, like daughter, I think with amusement. At least in this.

  “Oh, my,” June breathes dreamily.

  “We didn’t expect you. Your daughter and I were in the middle of something.” I wink. “Is there something you needed?”

  Marissa creeps behind me, peering out the door. “Mom?” she asks. “Everything okay?”

  June blinks, snapping out of her daze. “Oh. Yes. Yes! I just came to…” She looks down at her obviously expensive handbag, grasping at straws. Then she blithers, “Invite you to dinner at the club! Tomorrow! We’ll be dining there again, this time with Marissa’s father.”

  I smile at her graciously, leaning on the door jamb so she can get a full look at my nakedness and the erection her daughter’s inspired. “Why, that would be lovely.” I look at Marissa and notice she’s trying to button up her little sweater. I swat her hand away—those fabulous tits need to be bare as often as possible. “Don’t you think, Marissa?”

  She nods absently, her hand reaching up to her cleavage again. I grab it and hold it.

  “You can tell us about your work,” June says. “Where you’re from, everything. And all about England. Have you ever met Kate Middleton?”

  Marissa rolls her eyes—I wonder if she’s even aware she’s doing so, since she seems so bound-and-determined to placate her mom—and I bite my cheek to keep from laughing.

  “I’m not acquainted with the royal family, but I’ve played water polo with their butler more than once,” I say, deadpan. For the record, I’ve never played water polo and certainly not with anyone’s butler.

  June doesn’t realize I’m being sarcastic, and it’s apparent she’s wrapped around my finger. I have a feeling she’s already planned my and Marissa’s wedding and the names of our five children. If only she knew who I really was…

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me. Your daughter and I have a little business to attend to.” I whisper the last part conspiratorially, with a suggestive wiggle of my eyebrows. Then I motion for June to shoo along.

  June giggles. “Oh, yes, of course. Goodbye, Simon. It was lovely meeting you.”

  When I close the door I look back, expecting Marissa to thank me.

  She’s red as cranberry sauce, still unable to meet my eyes. “Oh. My. God.” She covers her face with her hands. “My mom thinks you and I are…”

  “Fucking?” I smile that she can’t even bring herself to say the word. She’s like a deliciously innocent schoolgirl. “Yep.”

  She throws herself down on her sofa and buries her head under a pillow. “I want to die.”

  “Actually, I was hoping you’d want to continue where we left off.”

  Her eyes widen, and I almost laugh at the expression on her face. She’s tempted. But then she shakes her head. “I can’t, Simon. I’m sorry. But would it be unfair if I…”

  “If what?”

  “If I asked you to stay a little longer? Just in case…you know…” She waves one hand.

  “You really think your mum would stake out your place to see if I leave?”

  She shrugs. “You see the problem with white lies?”

  “But you want my help. Does this mean you’ll consider helping me?”

  She hesitates. “I really don’t think I can. But if you stay…I’ll consider it.”

  I grin. “Good enough for me.” I hop over the back of the sofa and make myself comfortable.

  She perches on the other end of the sofa, as far away from me as possible, downs the rest of her vodka, and stares into the empty glass. Getting that blush to fall over her cheeks is starting to feel like my new favorite pastime.

  I think one touch would send her skyrocketing to the ceiling. So of course, I do. I reach over and push her hair out of her face.

  Yep. She doesn’t merely flinch—her head nearly grazes the ceiling, she’s so wound up.

  “Relax, love. Don’t mind me. What would you normally do, if I wasn’t here?”

  She looks up. “I’d…watch TV,” she mutters, embarrassed.

  I nod. “Then go on.”

  She glances at me, then reaches for the remote cautiously, as if I’m tricking her into something. I give her an innocent bat of the eyelashes. She flips on the television and of course, the brand new episode of Alien Love pops up. Marissa must have TiVo’ed the show the other night. I don’t usually watch myself on television but it looks like we’re up to the episode where Candace Porter, the character played by Ava Brice, and I are hiding out in a trailer park in the desert, and it’s so hot we’re both wearing very little. Makeup had to constantly lube us up with baby oil to keep us glistening with sweat from the first take to the last. Now, Ava and I are hiding out under the trailer from a suspicious neighbor, and we’re making out again. I cock an eye at Marissa and laugh because her blush has returned. She moves as if to change the channel but I can tell from the way her eyes are glued the screen that she wants to watch.

  “Keep it on, love,” I tell her with a wink. “I want to know what happens.”

  She sucks in a breath, puts down the remote, and leans back, still not looking relaxed. “So you like watching yourself on the screen?”

  “I rarely do, truthfully.” I grin at her. “Do you like watching me?”

  She bites her lip, staring straight at the screen, drinking in my naked body there, since she can’t bring herself to look at it in the flesh for more than a blink. “I’ve never missed an episode. It was better, though, before you and she got together. You know, all that sexual tension,
all that will-they-or-won’t-they. Even with that green skin, you have practically every girl in the nation drooling…” She must realize she’s babbling absently, because she suddenly shakes her head. “God! I can’t believe this is happening. I mean, you, here. You must get tired of girls ogling you.”

  I can’t help being amused. She’s turned on, those nipples are a dead giveaway, poking through her sweater. “Marissa,” I say gently. “Look at me.”

  She shakes her head.

  “Marissa…”

  It obviously takes all her strength, because she clenches her teeth as she turns to face me. The blush deepens as she takes in my naked form. Goddamn, she’s so sweet and innocent.

  I smile at her, unabashed. “Yes, I am quite used to women treating me like eye-candy. And as you said, it can get tiring. But since we’re here, alone, with no one to tell us what we should or shouldn’t be doing, I wouldn’t mind you treating me like regular candy. Feel free to taste what you like. It will be our secret.”

  She gasps in shock but there’s an equal amount of delight in the sound. With all the issues of People magazine she has lying around—something tells me she likes to live vicariously through celebrities. Perhaps her stuck-up family and her cheating boyfriend wouldn’t approve of her getting a little wild herself, but I can tell from the hungry way she’s looking at me, she has it inside her.

  She just needs the right person to unleash it.

  I take her hand gently and put it right where she’s looking, on another tattoo—this one of a skull—on my chest. Her fingers are cold but warm to my touch, and I suck in a breath when she gently caresses me, her hand moving to feel every sinew. She’s getting into it.

  Thatta girl. I knew you had it in you.

  “How long has it been since you had an honest-to-goodness petting session, Marissa? One you knew wouldn’t go very far, but far enough that you just couldn’t resist?”

  She takes in a shaky breath. “I’m—I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “No? In high school, did you ever have a boy panting over you, knowing he wasn’t going to get underneath your clothes but determined to give you pleasure anyway?”